


Crucio

by OTPshipper98



Series: Harry Potter in English [32]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Conversations, Crying Draco Malfoy, Fix-It of Sorts, Implied Albus Dumbledore Bashing, M/M, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Panic Attacks, Sectumsempra, Self-Harm (scratching), Unforgivable Curses (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 16:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPshipper98/pseuds/OTPshipper98
Summary: "It is our choices that show what we truly are." But what about those who don't really have a choice?This is how their journey together starts: with an Unforgivable, a confession and the incessant dripping of a faucet.





	Crucio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lynds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/gifts).



> Written for Lynds' // GoldFromStraw's prompt: **In the bathroom duel, Draco’s _Crucio_ hits first. It hurts, but Harry’s been hit with a _Crucio_ by Voldemort, it’s nothing he can’t handle. But Draco is utterly horrified at himself, he’s spent the summer watching people be _Crucio’d_ in his home and he’s just shown himself capable of casting an Unforgivable. He breaks down, Harry shakes the pain off and ends up comforting him. I just want angst and hurt/comfort and a fix to sixth year _Sectumsempra_ shenanigans! I beg you!**
> 
> I admit I thought this was going to be heavier on the "comfort" side! We all know I'm a sucker for Drarry hugs, but they just didn't feel natural after what had just happened between them. Still, there's lots of talking, and crying, and the ending is hopeful 😊
> 
> Big thanks to Keyflight790 for betaing, as always :3 ❤

“ _Crucio!_ ”

“ _Sectum—!_ ”

The word had appeared in Harry’s mind out of nowhere, like a reminder, a little pull telling him exactly what he had to do, telling him _this_ was his chance to sate his curiosity — to put Malfoy in his place. For a moment there, Malfoy felt like nothing but _the enemy_.

But as a sharp pang of pain shot through his chest, and as the air left his lungs with a surprised gasp, Harry had an irrational moment of, ‘ _Oh. I’m glad I didn’t manage that._ ’

The spasms took a few moments to ebb, and when he could finally catch his breath, Harry realised he’d let out a shrill yelp. His heart was drumming in his ears, but the pain was gone, and behind it stayed only a small feeling of tightness around his ribs and the knowledge that Draco Malfoy had tried to _Crucio_ him.

Tried, and actually somewhat succeeded.

The loud sound of a wand clattering against the tiles of the bathroom made him open his eyes with a start as he struggled to keep his stance. Malfoy’s shape was half-hidden behind one of the cubicles, where he’d been shielding himself from Harry’s hexes just a moment before. He wasn’t looking at Harry, though, but at his own hands. His mouth was half-open, his hair a damp mess over his forehead and temples.

A hollow, almost echoing shiver went down Harry’s spine when he realised that Malfoy was staring at himself in horror. That Malfoy had _dropped his wand_ — his only means of defence if Harry tried to fight back — in horror.

Harry felt startled, and confused, and a little bit mad. He considered his options for a moment — running to the teachers, shouting, hexing Malfoy now that he was vulnerable. He shook them all off and took a step forward.

Malfoy’s head snapped up, and the look on his face froze Harry in his tracks. There was _terror_ there. A dread so undiluted Harry could almost feel it within himself, growing, and shaking, and eating him alive. Making him feel like there would be no way out of what he’d done. Like he was _trapped._

With a feeling he couldn’t quite place, couldn’t quite _name_ , Harry took another step forward. “Malf—”

“Stay away from me!”

Malfoy’s head fell down again as he shrunk around himself with a shiver. His fists flew up to cover his eyes, his jaw set, his shoulders hunched. He was shaking, Harry promptly realised.

A different kind of alarm made Harry’s heart quicken in his chest. He still had his wand in hand, he had Malfoy defenceless before him, and he knew, he _knew_ , Malfoy was up to incredibly shady business. And still. Still, Malfoy was shaking, and Harry couldn’t hurt him. Not like this. Not while he was hiding his face. That must have been what Malfoy would have done in his place, but Harry — Harry couldn’t.

He took a few more steps. Malfoy didn’t react this time, except to shrink again, slightly, almost imperceptibly. _‘He must be waiting for a curse,’_ Harry realised. _‘For my revenge.’_

The thought made him feel nauseous and wrong.

A small thought crossed his mind, reminding him he’d just tried to shoot an unknown, potentially dangerous curse at Malfoy, but he pushed it away and closed the distance between them, careful to tuck his wand away.

He lingered there for a moment, just half a step away from Malfoy. He had no clue what to do. Looking around, he realised Myrtle was nowhere to be seen, although he distinctly remembered hearing her shrieks just seconds before. She must have left to look for help. Or maybe she’d gotten scared.

In any case, they were alone, only the steady dripping of a faucet and the sobs and gasps that were escaping Malfoy surrounding them. That, and the incessant drumming of Harry’s heart in his head.

“Malfoy, you—” he started, unsure, tentative, his voice still a bit rough with pain and annoyance.

“No,” Malfoy sobbed — a pained, pathetic sound. “No, no, I didn’t — I’m not like—” He wasn’t just shaking. He was _convulsing._ From his limbs to his chest, to his face, hidden behind a hand, to his neck, where the other hand had fallen and was now piercing the skin with desperate fingernails. “I _wouldn’t..._ ”

“You just did,” Harry provided. “You just _Crucio_ ’d me.” When Malfoy didn’t reply, Harry huffed. “But it hardly hurt, if that’s what you’re worried about. Voldemort and Bellatrix were far better at it. Or worse, I guess.”

He was acting too harsh, he knew as much. But who could blame him? Malfoy had _Crucio’d_ _him_. And wasn’t this what they always did, anyway? Snap at each other, ridicule each other, attack, insult back and forth — try to hurt as much as possible. It was their _thing_. This fight had been no different, except it had been more intense. And Harry had been so caught in it, so enraged, so _thrilled_ to finally have Malfoy trapped and vulnerable… he hadn’t realised it had gone too far. He hadn’t been thinking much.

Fuck, who was he trying to kid? The _Sectumsempra_ curse had slipped from him! He hadn’t been thinking _at all_. And if Malfoy hadn’t been faster — hadn’t been as angry, and thrilled, and ready to hurt as Harry — who knew what Harry would have done to him?

Was what Malfoy had done so much worse than what Harry had _almost_ done?

He took one last small step and invaded Malfoy’s personal space, ready to voice his realisation, ready to — for once — talk out what had happened between them, but Malfoy retreated, the words stumbling out from between his fists as his breath caught in his throat. “I said st-stay away from m-me!”

That was probably a sensible idea. The intelligent thing to do would be to get away from there, to report Malfoy to the teachers for using an Unforgivable and watch from the side as his every plan crumbled down in ashes. Godric, the sensible thing to do would be to petrify Malfoy and bring him to the teachers himself.

Harry saw a tear parting from under Malfoy’s fist, streaming down his neck and pooling into the dip his nails were digging into his flesh. Was Malfoy even aware he was scratching himself?

If there had been any doubt in Harry’s mind, it vanished as fast as it had come. He wasn’t going to report Malfoy to the teachers.

This was as much his fault as it was Malfoy’s.

He reached out, not even knowing what he was doing — it wasn’t like Malfoy had ever acted like this in front of him — but Malfoy flinched at Harry’s touch on his shoulder, and crouched, his hands coming to press at the back of his head, at his nape, his figure becoming a helpless, wretched little thing.

“F-fuck,” Malfoy gasped, a shaky hand coming to wipe at the next few tears that rolled from his eyes. “Fuck.”

 _‘Fuck, indeed,’_ thought Harry. He’d never seen anyone in so much distress before. Not even Ron had been this far gone when they’d had to confront a horde of giant spiders. He’d been shaking, yes, and cursing, but…

Harry opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then, he blurted out, “Bellatrix Lestrange _Crucio’d_ me in the Department of Mysteries.” His own voice wavered a bit, nervous. It suddenly felt too loud for the cold emptiness of the bathroom. “Voldemort _Crucio’d_ me, too, the day Cedric died. It — it hurt so much I couldn’t see. It hurt _so much_ I could barely hear my own screams.” He wiped his sweaty palms on his robes, watching as Malfoy cringed around himself, and added a rushed, “Malfoy, I wasn’t joking. You didn’t hurt me half as much—”

“I’m _not—_ ” Malfoy interrupted him. “Like _them_. I didn’t want to — to end up like this. I didn’t — I’m not a—” Malfoy fell on the bathroom tiles. He cradled his legs, burying his face in his knees with a sob that pierced the air. “Fuck. I w-want _out_. I want out, I want out, I want out, I—”

And if there was anything Malfoy could have said to win Harry over — to make him even more determined on his resolve — it was those words, and those words only. They were the same words that had spilled from him once — that terrible, terrible day at Dumbledore’s office, right after Sirius’s death, when he’d wanted nothing but to step out of his own damn life, to put a stop to time, to disappear, to scream, to break things — to punch and throw and _destroy_ until everything around him looked exactly like he felt inside.

He crouched beside Malfoy and tried to get a grip of his arm, but Malfoy pushed him, crawling away from him before covering his face.

“Don’t—” He sobbed. “Just m-make it stop. _Please_ , make it stop. I don’t want this anymore. I never wanted it to get this far. I never thought I’d—” He shook his head, again and again. And, as he sighed into the little cavern between his chest and knees, a sickly, broken utterance seemed to escape from him, making its way to Harry: “I don’t want to be a killer.”

“Come on, Malfoy, you barely hurt me.” Harry suspected — _knew_ — Malfoy was talking about something else now. He seemed too far gone, too lost in his own thoughts — seemed to be blurting out confessions before he had to stop himself. Seemed like he was desperately hoping for help, hoping for _anything_ , and Harry was there, and he was _trying, trying anything he could_. And so Harry went with it, nudged him, said the words he thought would give Malfoy the little push he needed to spill it all out. “There’s no way you could have killed me.”

“N-Not _you_. He wants me to—” Malfoy gasped, and didn't finish the sentence.

Harry's heart raced. Avid, he uttered a quick, “To what?”

Malfoy shook his head again. “I can't.” He sunk his head even more, fingers pulling at the mess that were his blond strands. “I can't do it. I can't talk about it. I can't keep them safe. It's all my fault, and I want it to stop, but I can't. I — I _have_ to do it. I have to—” He inhaled sharply, then let the air out slowly, unevenly. “I will do it. I'll do it all, and when they're all safe, I'll…” Another breath. “Yes.”

Malfoy sounded like he had gone completely mad, and it was making Harry's pulse jump in his throat. After a moment of shock, he moved cautiously, approaching Malfoy just a bit. He swallowed, and as he carefully inspected Malfoy’s body language, he murmured, “Who has he ordered you to kill?”

Malfoy’s body jerked. Their eyes met — Malfoy’s full of sudden terror. Full of tears. “You know _nothing_ , Potter.”

“I didn't a moment ago,” Harry agreed. “Now I know you don't want to kill the person he's ordered you to kill, but you feel like there's no other option. I know you want it all to stop.” Harry approached him once more, looking at Malfoy defiantly, daring him to retreat again.

Malfoy's hand blindly found his wand on the floor beside him. He gripped it hard, but kept his hand firmly against the tiles. When he spoke, his voice came out hoarse.

“You aren't going to help me.”

Harry reached out, and gently but surely pressed the tips of his fingers to Malfoy's cold, white knuckles where they were gripping the wand. “You aren't going to hurt me.”

Malfoy flinched. “Don't you see?” He sounded defeated. Desperate. “I already did. And I'll do it again if I need to. I'll do everything I have to do to…”

“To what, Malfoy? To please your parents? To keep Voldemort happy?” He pressed his whole palm to Malfoy's hand now, confident. “To destroy your own life?”

“Don't.” Malfoy gasped. He shook a bit, his face scrunching even more. “Don't say his name.”

“Whose?” He asked innocently. “Voldemort's?”

Malfoy tugged at his hand, removing it from under Harry's touch. “Do you think this is all some stupid game?” He pointed his wand at Harry, but his hold on it was weak and his eyes were watering again. “If you're going to laugh at me, at least hex me into oblivion so I don't have to put up with it!”

“I don't think it's a game.” Harry grasped the wand pointed at his heart and slowly moved it to the side. Malfoy caved pretty easily, a low whine at the back of his throat. “I think he's terrified you into thinking you don't have a choice. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying you would make the right choice — I know you're a stupid, self-centred, bigoted brat — but even _you_ have a choice. It's right there, right past the fear. So yes, I'm going to keep repeating his name until—”

A humourless snort made him halt in his words. Malfoy shook his head, let his hand fall, hugged his knees a bit tighter with his other arm. “Bloody Gryffindor.” He shook his head again, exhaled. He was clearly trying to look pissed off, but a tear rolled from his eye, and he looked away, sniffing. “Dumbledore. He wants me to — Dumbledore.” He practically slapped the tear from his face, frowning. “And if I don't succeed — which I'm not, in case you haven't realised — he will kill both my parents. He will wait until I go back home and he will kill them right in front of me. There's my choice, Potter. Help me make it, if you're so keen. Your headmaster’s head and your hands full of blood, or the death of your parents imprinted like fire into your memory, and the knowledge the fault is your own? I do seem to recall you have some experience with the second scenario.”

Those last words didn't even get to him. Harry was too thrown back by the fact Malfoy had said all that — all those things that should have been impossible to enunciate, that should be giving him nightmares — like he was talking about the weather. Like he didn't even care anymore.

And perhaps some part of him didn't. What was it he'd said a moment before? _‘I'll do it. I'll do it all, and when they're all safe, I'll… yes.’_

“There has to be a way—” Harry started.

“There isn't.”

“If we talk to Dumbledore,” he insisted, “He can—”

“Help the Death Eater who is trying to get him killed? Please.”

“He can help his student who is being forced into commiting a crime!” Harry snapped.

Malfoy huffed. “Don’t be naive, Potter.”

“Don’t be a coward, then!”

Malfoy wasn’t looking at him. He seemed to be staring at the faucet to their right, at the fall of the little drops that were hitting the sink in a constant, almost soothing _‘drop, drop, drop’._

“We can’t all be like you. We can’t all be the stupid fucking hero. We don’t all have the support of every good force in this world. Some of us need to do everything there is to protect ourselves, because we’re not under the almighty Dumbledore’s shelter.”

“You think just because I’m on the good side, my life has been easy?” Harry snapped. “You have no idea what I’ve gone through these past years!”

Malfoy’s jaw clenched. “Oh, believe me, I do. It’s all everyone ever talks about. _‘Poor Harry — Do you know what happened to him this time? Oh, poor, poor Harry, surely he’s a martyr, surely he deserves everything in the world!’_ ”

“And you think I like that? You think just because they say those things they _care_ about me?”

“No.” Malfoy sneered and turned his head back to Harry. His eyes, still puffed, were… exhausted. There was barely any venom there — much less than Harry had expected to see. Malfoy looked like an emotionless shell. “I think you didn’t have a choice, either. I think your beloved Dumbledore fed all the stories about the ‘Boy Who Lived’ just to fill the masses with hope and put you in a position where you couldn’t be anything else than what he wanted you to. I think you would have never chosen to be the Chosen One. You don’t like being the centre of attention. You hate feeling like if you don’t save the day, no one else will.” His lips quirked up in an unamused, tired expression. “I believe the right choice was made for you, the same way the wrong choice was made for me.”

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

They stared at each other in the silence that followed — Harry breathing deeply, Malfoy skipping over his breaths like they were unimportant. Malfoy’s words were skipping, too, in Harry’s mind, over and over and over. He didn’t want them. He didn’t, but he couldn’t unthink them.

“Dumbledore knows,” Malfoy eventually added, his tone low. He probably thought Harry had broken. “He knows the Dark Lord has ordered me to kill him. He doesn’t want to stop me.”

Harry breathed in. His throat had gone weird, and he swallowed around it, his thoughts a mess. “Are — are you positive about that?” he asked, letting the conversation drift away from Malfoy’s previous words and what they were doing to him. Because he couldn’t possibly — _okay_ , so they had things in common, but he _couldn’t possibly_ — be so similar to Draco fucking Malfoy.

Or could he?

Malfoy’s eyes glistened with a curiosity that almost took over the vacancy in his expression. “You believe me?”

Harry frowned. Did he? Malfoy _could_ have lied to him, but the thought seemed absurd. “I can tell when you’re lying,” he said as the thought formed. “I know you’re telling the truth now.”

For a moment, they stared at each other. Then Malfoy let his arms fall from around his legs, bringing one to his eyes to wipe away the last traces of his breakdown. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, I’m positive about it.”

Fuck. “But _why_?” asked Harry. “Why would he do that? I don’t understand.”

Malfoy scowled. “Does anyone?” He was fidgeting with his wand now. “He always manages to save the day, no matter who or what he has to put at risk in order to do it. He’s probably thrilled he can finally put his own life at stake just to win the damned war.”

Malfoy had said it as a joke, but an image flashed in Harry’s mind — Dumbledore’s hand, purple. _Cursed_. Dumbledore’s _‘That’s a tale for another day, Harry’_ at his questions.

“Fuck,” he blurted out. “ _Fuck_. I think you could be right.”

Malfoy snorted. “Great. That solves it all, then,” he sneered.

Harry stood up, restless. “No, no, but — there’s something we can do to—”

“Again? We’ve discussed this—”

“No, listen. Maybe _he’s_ letting you go through all of this, but _I’m_ not going to.” He started to pace around, frowning. “You said he doesn’t care who or what he risks, and I think you’re right. But there’s… there’s something he can’t miss.” He looked at Malfoy. “Me,” he said. “He needs me. He can’t win this war without me.”

Malfoy swallowed. “You’re going to blackmail him — with yourself.”

“For you, yes.”

Several expressions crossed Malfoy’s face. He settled for incredulity, and a mixture of mockery and hopelessness. “I won’t join the Order, if that’s what you’re hoping. I belong by my parents’ side. I have to keep them safe.”

For a moment, Harry didn’t know what to say to that. But then he thought of Ron. He tried to imagine what Ron would look like, sacrificing himself for Molly and Arthur. The image felt wrong — like it should be the other way round. Frowning, he said, “No. They are the ones who need to keep you and themselves safe. It was never your duty to care for them.” With a newfound fire in his veins, he stretched his arm out, reaching for Malfoy’s hand. “And now get up and come with me. You said neither of us had had a choice, right? Well, we’re going to make one now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Even if this is an old fic, kudos, comments and bookmarks are still incredibly appreciated! ❤️


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